


Hurts Like Hell

by A_Study_In_Johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Heartbroken Sherlock, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Third Person, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock's Violin, Top John Watson, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 02:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11117919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Study_In_Johnlock/pseuds/A_Study_In_Johnlock
Summary: John notes that Sherlock has been playing the same song on his violin for three days. He finally decides to inquire.





	Hurts Like Hell

**Author's Note:**

> I really haven't uploaded in what feels like a while, so I feel a bit rusty. If you like it, please don't be afraid to leave a comment!  
> Enjoy!

 

 

It was after John’s third date, when he was climbing the stairs to 221B that the doctor realized Sherlock had been playing the same song on his violin for three days straight. John’s lips turned down in consideration, his heart filling with the melancholy sound that Sherlock continued to fill their flat with. 

As usual, Sherlock didn’t notice John’s presence and he didn’t make himself known. Instead, John sent a quick text to Molly letting her know he was back home and that she could bring Rosie back whenever she was ready. John set his phone down on the counter below him and, for a moment, listened to Sherlock play. From what John could tell, the song was made up of three chords and Sherlock was dragging them out to their saddest ability.

He opened his mouth to say something to his detective, but no sound escaped upon the shock of his possessive thought.  _ His  _ Sherlock? John had to close his eyes against the onslaught of emotions that never stopped hitting him. 

After Mary, it didn’t take him long to climb those familiar stairs to 221B, finally coming home, because he couldn’t bear to be anywhere else. Anywhere Sherlock wasn’t. But John was overrun with guilt. After they’d rebuilt the flat from top to bottom, they also had to rebuild their friendship. It took, seemingly, forever. At least to John, that’s what it felt like considering the fact that Sherlock would involuntarily flinch at John’s touch. It made the doctor sick to his stomach, unable to shy away from the images of his fist colliding with Sherlock’s face, his foot connecting with Sherlock’s ribs. 

John was pulled out of his head as he noted that the music had come to a stop. He turned to see Sherlock gazing out of the window. John felt himself swallow, suddenly nervous.

“Sherlock?” his voice came out so quiet, but he knew the detective wouldn’t miss it.

But Sherlock ignored it, pulling his violin back up to start playing again. The same song. The same song every time. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

Anyone would have missed Sherlock’s hand as it faltered, but John didn’t. He couldn’t. He’d studied Sherlock just as much as the consulting detective had studied him. He noted all of Sherlock’s little movements, the falters, the genuine smiles, the hurt expressions. 

It all made John’s heart clench.

“No, John. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Sherlock went back to playing.

“Then why did you hesitate?” John shared his deduction with Sherlock which made the detective stop altogether. 

“I didn’t,” He said, still not looking at John.

“I saw you. It was all but a millisecond–you hesitated.”

“You’re getting better,” Sherlock murmured and John couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or disdain.

“Well, I’ve learned from the best.” John said sincerely. 

Sherlock turned then, a small smirk on his lips. “I assure you John, I learn more from you on a daily basis.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” John persisted softly.

“Something would have to be wrong,” Sherlock brushed it off, setting his violin back into its case. “For me to tell you.”

“Sherlock…” John trailed off. “We agreed.”

Sherlock’s lips pressed together. He knew: no more lies. That had been their agreement.

“What do they have that I don’t?” Sherlock’s voice was so small and  _ hurt _ that it took John by surprise. 

“I…” he trailed off, still trying to wrap his mind around what his best friend had just asked him. “What?” he asked stupidly. No, he couldn’t have heard that correctly.

“Forget it,” Sherlock muttered, heading towards the kitchen. But that was enough evidence for John. He  _ had  _ heard Sherlock correctly. The moment he attempted to brush past John, the doctor gripped the taller man by his arm, nearly forcing Sherlock down to his height.

“No, we’re not going to  _ forget it _ , Sherlock,” he whispered harshly between them. “Not anymore.”

Sherlock’s verdigris eyes focused on John’s dark blue orbs. A dark, endless sea. Yet, so full of mystery the detective couldn’t begin to fathom.

“Then,  _ do  _ something about it, John Watson.” Sherlock nearly gritted through his teeth.

And, then, John was kissing Sherlock. And Sherlock was kissing him back with equal fervour as if one couldn’t get enough of the other. John pulled Sherlock against him, wanting to feel the planes of his body beneath those thin pajamas he loved to wear around the flat. John ran his tongue along Sherlock’s plump bottom lip and Sherlock granted him entrance, exploring John’s mouth with a muffled moan.

John felt a familiar tightening in his jeans, his cock filling with every brush of their lips, with every sound Sherlock made until John felt like he might implode.

Apparently Sherlock felt the same as he breathed, “ _ John _ ,” between them.

“They’re nothing,” John whispered, cupping Sherlock’s face. “They’re nothing to me, Sherlock. You have  _ everything.  _ Everything I could ever ask for and more.”

“Then, why?” Sherlock wondered aloud. 

“We’d been so busy rebuilding our friendship that I was terrified of making any wrong moves. I love you so much and it would devastate me if I had to let you go again.”

Sherlock blinked. Then, he blinked twice more. John was immediately reminded of when he’d asked Sherlock to be his best man. 

“ _ You… _ ” Sherlock trailed off. 

John waited.

“Love  _ me? _ "

John breathed a laugh of relief. “God, yes I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh, John,” Sherlock breathed, looking down at John in wonder. “ _ Oh _ , John Watson,” he whispered. “You are my heart. You keep me right. It’s quite simple without ever being so. There aren’t enough words to express the depth of love I have for you.”

John beamed up at his detective and pulled him in for another kiss. This kiss was less rushed, there were smiles in between, as they realised that being together was as easy as breathing.

“ _ John _ ,” Sherlock murmured. 

“I know–sofa.”

Sherlock pulled John along behind him, shutting and locking the front door. The fireplace crackled in the dim light and Sherlock began to slip off his dressing gown. John reached forward, wanting to undress him and Sherlock allowed him, lifting his arms so that John could pull his shirt off. John let his thumb brush one of Sherlock’s nipples, eliciting the most beautiful gasp he’d ever heard leave those cupid bow lips. 

John lowered himself to his knees, hands gripping Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock looked down at John through dilated eyes, his breath coming short.

“Have you ever done this?”

Sherlock slowly shook his head. 

“Don’t worry,” John kissed a sharp hipbone, dragging his teeth lightly across Sherlock’s pale skin, making the man above him groan. “I’ll go slow.”

John pulled the drawstring to Sherlock’s pajama bottoms and dragged them down until they pooled at his detective’s feet. John was pleased to find that Sherlock wasn’t wearing any pants. Sherlock stepped out of them and John gently took Sherlock’s swollen cock into his hand. Long and slender, much like Sherlock himself, and pink at the tip, matching the colour of Sherlock’s lips. 

“God,” John breathed before leaning in, running his tongue along the underside of Sherlock’s cock. A shocked moan punched its way out from Sherlock’s throat. John began to wonder what other sounds he could make the taller man make. His lips wrapped around the delicate head of Sherlock’s cock, sucking softly.

“ _ Ungh, _ ” Sherlock groaned, his fingers combing through John’s short hair. “ _ John. _ ”

John lowered his mouth onto Sherlock’s cock, inch by inch, until he couldn’t take anymore and enjoyed the texture and taste of Sherlock. Moaning around him, he began bobbing his head down on Sherlock’s length, listening and pushed on by the sounds falling from Sherlock’s lips. John reached up to gently roll Sherlock’s bollocks in his hand before Sherlock gave a hard grunt. 

“Please...John,” Sherlock panted, his hips canting into John’s mouth. “Not like this...I can’t....” he gasped. “Please.”

John granted him mercy, pulling off, and rose to his feet. Sherlock immediately began undressing John with a goal in mind. He unbuttoned John’s shirt and pushed the fabric from his shoulders, leaning in to kiss John’s scar which made John inhale sharply in shock.

“Not good?” Sherlock asked softly.

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t expecting you to...touch it.”

“It’s a part of you, John,” Sherlock whispered, his fingers brushing over his skin. “And I cherish every part of you.”

John shuddered and leaned in to kiss Sherlock. Sherlock’s tongue explored John’s mouth, tasting himself along his tongue. John, with as much strength as he could muster, lifted Sherlock into his arms, walking them over to the couch. He sat down with Sherlock in his lap, the dim light behind him and his head of curls making him resemble an angel. 

Sherlock reached down to undo John’s slacks and John rose to help Sherlock slide them, along with his boxers, down his hips. When they pooled at the floor, John kicked his shoes and socks off, along with his slacks. 

“God, you’re perfect,” Sherlock whispered as he ran his hands down John’s body, to hips, wherever he could reach and back up again to cup John’s face, placing a gentle kiss to his lips. “There’s lube between the cushion.”

John giggled softly. “Why is there lube between the cushion?”

Sherlock grinned. “For an experiment, of course.”

“Of course,” then, they were both giggling, their foreheads pressed together. “We can’t giggle when we’re having sex,” he feigned admonishment.

“Why not?” Sherlock frowned, a smirk still upon his lips.

“Because boring couples don’t do it.” he nipped at Sherlock’s bottom lip, eliciting a shiver.

“Mmm, that’s exactly why they’re so dreadfully  _ boring _ .” 

John reached between the cushion and pulled out the tube. Opening the cap, he poured some, liberally, onto his hand and–with his free hand–pulled Sherlock closer to him, lining their cocks up. John noted he was thicker than Sherlock and–suddenly–he couldn’t wait to see all of the things they would do to each other. He knew Sherlock would get carried away experimentally and John was more than fine with that.

John wrapped his hand around the both of them, a shock rushing up his spine. Sherlock closed his eyes, his breath coming out in short gasps. John nudged his nose against his detective’s.

“Don’t hide,” he murmured. “It’s just me and you. It’s always been me and you.”

Sherlock nodded, his eyes drifting open. They were cloudy and unfocused.

“It’s okay to lose yourself, Sherlock. I’m here.” John began moving his hand, their cocks appearing and disappearing as he worked his hand over them. Sherlock’s eyes never left his and John didn’t dare look away. They focused on sensations, the proximity of the other, the shared moans and gasps until Sherlock was trembling, his hips beginning to rise. 

Following Sherlock’s lead, John held them in a firm grip, their hips canting up through his fist, giving brutal thrusts. Sherlock’s mouth fell open, releasing a string of expletives.

“God, you are so beautiful,” John whispered. “Look at you.”

Sherlock groaned lowly, almost as if it reverberated through his chest. 

“You’re so perfect,” he continued, feeling a familiar pool of warmth in his belly and the tightening in his bollocks. They continued to push up into John’s hand, creating the most delicious sounds that seemed to echo off the walls. “Fuck,  _ Sherlock.” _

“I’m…” Sherlock panted. “ _ John. _ ”

“I’m right here; come on, darling, give it to me. Let me see you.”

And with a broken moan, Sherlock spilled between them, onto John’s hand and John fell right behind him, their bodies shaking from the force of their orgasms. They rode out the waves until they were too sensitive. Sherlock slumped against John and John simply held his detective there, his clean hand brushing through Sherlock’s curls.

Eventually, though, John had to get a flannel from the bathroom and cleaned them up. Sherlock gazed at him through cloudy eyes and a lazy smile. 

“What?” John smiled back as he kissed up Sherlock’s stomach, his scar above his heart, and his jaw.

“I love you.” 

Quite simple without ever being so.


End file.
